


Five times someone helped Jason Todd back to his feet, and one time he returned the favor

by StargazerLament



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-29 04:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18771085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StargazerLament/pseuds/StargazerLament
Summary: Chapter 1:There were some wallpaper inspirational quotes about standing up after you fall down, Jason was sure. And though they probably never meant it literally, all he wanted to do was spit in the face of whatever wise-ass had come up with it, because they never told you how hard it could really be.





	1. Jason & Tim

**Author's Note:**

> Picking fanfic writing back up in an attempt to fan the flames of my personal inspiration. Hope you enjoy!

There were some wallpaper inspirational quotes about standing up after you fall down, Jason was sure. And though they probably never meant it literally, all he wanted to do was spit in the face of whatever wise-ass had come up with it, because they never told you how hard it could really be.

There was blood in his teeth, and from the wet cling of his shirt to his stomach, he could assume there was a trail of it smearing across the pavement from where he had landed, as well. He couldn’t stand up. He just couldn’t, this time. The best he could do was crawl, and he had been—three feet, five feet, ten, fifteen—but his arms were quaking with the effort, and his stomach was churning. He would consider throwing up, if he didn’t know it would make everything one hundred times worse.

The comm in his ear crackled, and Jason realized that he had forgotten about it. Everything had taken on a hazy quality, actually, and he wondered what else he had forgotten. 

It was probably a bad sign that the worry from the thought was a distant flicker more than anything else.

“Hood?” 

It was Red Robin, and for a second the confusion failed to clear from his mind. Then, he remembered.

It was a piece of cake bust of some lowlife drug dealers. He had caught them hanging around schools and selling to kids; followed them back to their swanky rooftop base. There were a lot of them—cooks, dealers, runners—and Jason hadn’t been stupid or estranged enough to not drop a little info for the bats and wait for one to arrive. 

“Hood, come in.”

It was a good thing he had, too. They’d had guns, and he’d had rubber bullets, how was that fair. 

“Hood!”

Goddamnit, Tim, you always get the cool toys.

A moment of blessed silence followed the thought, and Jason was content to continue dragging himself across the ground, for all that he hadn’t noticed he’d stopped. Then, his brain caught up with his mouth, and the realization pulled itself up through the fog: he had said that out loud. Yelled, it, actually, as much as his wheezing lungs could manage.

There were quiet steps behind him, and, after a reluctant moment, he stopped crawling. He let his head droop as he waited, almost enough to touch his forearms. The next moment, he was startling awake, a hand just touching his shoulder. He looked up.

Red Robin was crouched next to him, unclasping that ridiculous cape from his shoulders and stretching it out towards him. 

Jason leaned away as much as he could. To his disappointment, it was barely at all. “Whaddya doin’?”

Instead of a response, the cape was draped over his shoulders, and Jason couldn’t help but shudder. He hadn’t been cold, really, until he suddenly was that bit warmer.

From right next to him, and in his ear. “This is Red Robin, I need the Batmobile at my location. A, please prep the medical bay.”

Then, there were hands, featherlight, pressing down over his body, eyes cataloging each hiss and wince. Red Robin’s expression was tight.

“That bad?” Jason asked.

The gaze flicked up to meet his own, and suddenly, the metaphorical mask dropped away, and it was Tim in front of him. “You’ll be fine,” he said.

For all that it wasn’t a confirmation, it might as well have been. Jason sighed.

“Help me on my back?”

Tim frowned. “I really don’t think you should-”

“Either you help me, baby bird, or I’ll do it myself, and it probably won’t be pretty.”

Reluctantly, Tim pulled while Jason pushed, and when the white wash of pain cleared, he was looking up into the smoggy night sky.

Tim was snapping his fingers in front of Jason’s face. “You with me?” 

Speaking took an extra breath. “Yeah.” He blinked. “Wow, that hurt.”

A disappointed hum, and the cloak was draped over his chest, instead. ‘Thanks,’ he thought, but his lips didn’t quite move enough to voice it.

Neither of them spoke as Tim took out his medkit and started packing clots and wrapping bandages. From the sharpness Jason could feel in his stomach and leg, he assumed those were the worst.

“You gonna tell on me?” he wheezed, when the silence echoed a bit too much.

Without hesitation. “Yes.”

He exhaled. “Shit.”

After joining back up with the family, there was some sort of green light that no one would tell him about, but he was sure happened. Out of nowhere, he was being accosted after nights out; checked for injuries. ‘You have to watch for infection.’ ‘These stitches aren’t properly done.’ ‘Goddamnit, Jason, let me take the bullet out.’

Annoying and unnecessary, he told them all, but in the end he didn’t argue. Much.

The rumble of the Batmobile was what brought him back to the present. Tim was frowning severely down at him, hand lightly patting against his cheek. A very good Batman impression, all things considered. 

“Do you think you can get in?” Tim asked.

Jason considered it. “No.”

Tim nodded. “This is going to hurt.”

A mockery was on the tip of his tongue, but when Tim hooked his arms under Jason’s and started to pull him up, it was all he could do to clench his teeth and keep from screaming. When the pain faded back to dull throbs, he was laying across the back seats, head and shoulders propped against one of the doors. Tim was in the passenger seat, rotated to face him, checking over injuries that, now, Jason could see.

“Oh, that’s not good,” he managed. Something long and sharp was sticking out of his stomach, and it was all he caught sight of before everything went black.

By the time he woke up, he was bandaged and hooked up to the machinery in the Cave, Alfred tutting over him. When he turned his head, he found Tim standing to the side, out of his uniform and hair wet. For all that it must have been an hour at the least, there was no hint of the rest of the family.

“You didn’t tell on me?” Jason asked, when Tim made his way over.

Tim smirked. “Figured you could use a break.”

“You’re a lifesaver, baby bird.”


	2. Jason & Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warehouses, man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Should be daily updates until it's finished. Enjoy, and thank you for both the kudos and kind words.

It was always explosions that caught up with him. Well, bullets, knives, crowbars, a multi-story fall, and/or whatever other weapon the villain of the day had scrounged up usually did as well, but _his point was_ , explosions stuck around and laid you out. He didn’t rig places up too often, but when he did, he was always careful. It would have been fine, he was absolutely certain, if he had been the one to light up the warehouse, instead of some jackass of a cronie who probably couldn’t even light the right end of dynamite.

 

So, something exploded when it shouldn’t have—halfway through tag-teaming the group of Black Mask minions, Nightwing at his back—and it was really just his luck that the least stable part of the building was the railing under his feet. He had just enough time to elbow Nightwing out of the way and bite back a shout before he was falling.

 

But what kind of former Robin would he be if he couldn’t stick a landing? He rolled into the drop and was on his feet within moments; the problem was more his new location. Storage level. Storage for a shipment of explosive-filled crates, to be specific. Whatever had gone off hadn’t been in the lower floor, but he could smell smoke in the air, and knew it was only a matter of time until he was paste if he didn’t get out.

 

From above. “Hood, you okay?”

 

He could see the telltale splash of blue in the darkness. “I will be as soon as I get out of this shithole,” he shouted at it.

 

“You know where the exit is?”

 

“More or less.” Meaning ‘probably not, but I guess we’ll find out.’

 

A pause, which Jason took to take a better glance around—no immediate exit in sight, but lines of boxes leading further into the building—before there was a light tap, and Nightwing was walking up beside him.

 

Jason scowled. The fact that it was under his helmet ruined the effect, but still. “What are you doing?”

 

Nightwing shrugged. “Couldn’t get out from up there,” he blatantly lied, “And two heads are better than one, anyways.”

 

“Not when one of them is full of air.”

 

“Now, Hood, you shouldn’t say things like that about yourself,” followed Jason down the line of crates, right before the footsteps, and when Dick was alongside him again, he was grinning.

 

Usually, Jason would snap back. Spend a few minutes trading insults with the golden boy, maybe a bit of friendly punching. But there was a buzz in the back of his mind. Not quite panic, because he had moved past that—would never have been able to return to nights fighting crime if he hadn’t—but something of a whisper. Echoing laughter, the thud of metal against flesh, the rush of fire filling his ears.

 

‘Dingy warehouse’ would always take a seat of honor in his least favorite places to be.

 

If Dick noticed the lack of response, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he kept his head on a swivel, keeping a careful watch while Jason glanced between the stacks. Somewhere on the other side of the building, there was another explosion, and he didn’t think he could be blamed for quickening his steps.

 

“We’ll get out,” Dick said, from behind him.

 

Jason spared a turn of the head. “What?”

 

“We’ll get out,” he repeated. “We’ll find an exit, and we’ll be fine.”

 

Jason bit back a jab; reeled in the prickled defenses already rearing up around him. “I know,” he said, instead, even as a sharp edge slipped through, “Dying in a warehouse explosion would be stupid.”

 

He didn’t have to turn to see Dick’s kicked puppy look, but thankfully, his literal exit was in sight.

 

“Hood-”

 

“Oh look, our way out. Nice chatting, Dickie, but I’ve got plans anywhere away from here.” He stepped to the door, stretched his fingers towards the handle, and had just enough time to feel the heat of the metal—the prickle of danger up his spine—before it blew open.

 

Next thing he knew, he was on his back, legs up, head pounding, and ass most definitely digging into what was once a wooden crate. Another explosion, he gathered. This time, with him right on top of it. He was familiar with the sensation, after all; it was a _blast to the past_ , one could say.

 

“What the _fuck_ , Jason.”

 

And there was Dick, leaning over him and brushing away the largest pieces of wood. Then, expression tight with worry, his hands wrapped around Jason’s helmet. It was only when he clicked the release and pulled it off that Jason realized he was giggling breathlessly at his own horrible joke.

 

The dismayed look to cross Dick’s face was hilarious as well, but Jason had enough sense to push down the chuckles rising in his chest. “I’m good,” he said. Whether it was from the blood he could feel in his teeth—result of a bitten tongue—or something else entirely, Dick didn’t look convinced.

 

“I’m good!” he insisted. “Here, let me-” He pushed up off the ground, hooked his legs over the crates they had been resting on, and-

 

He was hanging from a pair of strong arms by his elbows, knees almost touching the ground, head drooping towards his chest.

 

“Jason?”

 

“Fuck,” he said, and spat out a glob of blood. He watched where it sizzled on the ground. “That didn’t go well.”

 

The exhale that Dick gave could have been a sigh, or it could have been a huff, but it was equal parts relief and long-suffering nonetheless. “Yeah, no.”

 

A moment of hesitation, and the hands on his biceps tightened. “Can I carry you?”

 

“Bridal style, fireman carry, piggyback? What’re we talking here, Dickie, cause I gotta tell you, I don’t think I’d fit into a wedding dress.”

 

“Jay…”

 

“Fucking- Yes, you can carry me. Get me the hell out of here.”

 

With that, he was heaved up across Dick’s shoulders with a grunt, arms wrapping themselves around the back of his knee and arm.

 

Fireman’s carry it was.

 

“You’re heavy,” Dick said, like it was a realization.

 

Jason snorted. “Not a fifteen year old string bean anymore.”

 

A pause. “You aren’t,” Dick agreed.

 

He could see now that the door that had blown open was, in fact, the exit. But he could also see the pile of debris scattered around the outside of the doorway, and, as they stepped through it, the scorch marks on the wall and ground. There were tire tracks leading away from the building, and Jason could feel his lips twisting.

 

“Assholes tried to blow us up,” he muttered, even as Dick kept a steady pace away from the warehouse. By the time a boom echoed through the city, they were blocks away.

 

“You know,” Dick said, after setting him down and calling for a pickup. “You’re not fifteen anymore, but you’ll always be my little wing.”

 

Jason rolled his eyes. If he felt a bit warm, well, that could be blamed on the fire.


	3. Jason & Damian

He couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs, no matter how many heaving breaths he took. The lights were blinding above his head, and his muscles were weak. Even if he’d had the energy to stand, the weight that had settled on his chest would have kept him down.

 

Maybe under other circumstances he would have been afraid or worried—angry, even—but all that bubbled up was faint frustration, and even that might as well not have been there.

 

“Father has been happier, as of late.”

 

Damian peered down at him, and Jason could feel him adjust his seat atop his torso. 

 

“That so,” Jason said.

 

The youth clicked his tongue. “I have concluded that the frequency of your visits to the manor correlate with the improvement of his mood.”

 

“Uh-huh.”

 

“As such, I propose a deal: I will spar with you once a week, in an attempt to improve your atrocious fighting style, and you will attend dinner at the manor after each session.”

 

He was looking down at Jason with confidence, as if the offer was just too enticing to refuse. It didn’t sound too bad, either, if Jason were being honest, but-

 

“Nah.”

 

He was rewarded immediately with the look of shock that crossed Damian’s face. It was covered quickly, but Jason had to bite down a laugh.

 

“Todd,” Damian said, reproachful and all but a whine, sounding for all the world like Jason had just toppled all of his greatest plans. “Why not?”

 

“I’ve got things to do, brat, and besides, I wouldn’t want to use up your time with my ‘atrocious fighting.’”

 

Damian frowned. “You fight well,” he said, “It’s your style which is lacking. Mother would disapprove.”

 

“Kiddo, your mother would disapprove of a whole lot of things about me.”

 

“I would agree, but I’ve found that she has an inexplicable fondness for you, no matter the stupidity of your actions.”

 

Jason snorted. “Nice to hear at least someone does.”

 

Instead of any response he expected, the frown deepened. “Todd, did you not hear me? Father has been happier.”

 

“Loud and clear, brat.”

 

“Father has been happier  _ with you around _ .”

 

Jason scowled. “Let’s agree to disagree on that, but even if he was, if I went out and killed someone tonight he’d drop me like I’m a meaningful emotional connection, that socially stunted ass.”

 

There was no response for a short while, after that, and Jason kept his gaze up, squinted against the lights, but he could feel Damian tapping his fingers against his chest. Eventually, the taps turned into a rougher few pokes, and then a voice.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Todd,” Damian said. “Father wouldn’t be happy, but he wouldn’t abandon you.” A haughty sniff. “Grayson would accost him if he even tried, and Drake wouldn’t be far behind.”

 

Jason kept his gaze straight. “And you?”

 

Damian looked down. “What?”

 

“What would you do, if he tried to throw me in Arkham again?”

 

A pause. Fingers tugging at his clothes. “I would highly advise against such a senseless action.”

 

And from Damian, that might as well have been a singing praise.

 

Jason sighed. “Alright, brat, I’ll come to your dinners.”

 

“Really?” Surprise, quickly covered. “I mean, of course you will.”

 

“Yeah, course I will. Now get the fuck off me, I have things to do.”

 

Obligingly, Damian uncrossed his legs and hopped off. When Jason sat up, there was a hand stretched out towards him. 

 

For all that it was unnecessary, Jason took it, and let his junior help him up.

 

“That was a good fight, Todd.”

 

“Damn right it was.”


	4. Jason & Cass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter one today, and a longer one tomorrow. o7

Being sick was horrible as a regular civilian, not to mention as a vigilante. He could hardly leave his territory unchecked for the hours-days-weeks that a cough wouldn’t leave his throat or a fever dragged him down. So, it wasn’t the first time he had gone out on patrol sick as a dog, and he knew without a doubt that it wouldn’t be the last.

It wasn’t the first time he found his knees buckling on a rooftop, refusing to keep him off the ground, either. He took the valiant few minutes attempting to stand, using a nearby ledge to try and prop himself up, but he had known before setting out that spending the night somewhere among Gotham’s streets was a possibility.

Hardly the worst place he could sleep—or had slept, actually. The weather was nice, for Gotham. A bit of a spring chill, but the layers of armor Jason wore always did well to keep him warm. So the wobbly kneel turned into laying down, and his patrol was cut short in favor of looking into the night sky. The coolness of the stone was a welcome reprieve to the heat in his cheeks, after removing his helmet, and when he closed his eyes to enjoy it, the amount of time that passed became irrelevant.

When he woke up, it was to a hand touching his forehead, and a dark, masked figure leaning over him. For a moment, his heart jumped. Not because of their presence—waking up in the middle of the night with a darkly cloaked figure over you wasn’t unusual for any of Batman’s children—but because of how much it resembled the man himself.

All black, from the flowing cape to the pointed tips of stylized ears. It was only when he saw the mouth—the lack of one—and the moonlight catching on shimmering yellow hues that he relaxed.

“Little brother,” Black Bat said. She tapped a finger against his head before pulling back.

“Hey,” he said, and even to his own ears, it sounded rough.

“You are sick.” It was more an accusation than a question. Disapproval mixed with concern, conveying all the things she didn’t say.

“Yeah, yeah, I went out sick. Can’t leave Crime Alley of all places unchecked for however long this is going to last. I’m fine.”

“Stuck on a rooftop.” She hummed. “You could have asked.”

Jason looked back up into the sky. “...You all have your own parts of town to take care of.”

“Not a burden. For me.”

“Yeah, well Cass, you’re a badass, you don’t count.”

She poked him again. “Ask me,” she proclaimed, tone triumphant. “I _am_ badass, little brother.”

He squinted. “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you.”

She clicked her tongue. “Doesn’t count.” Then, she tugged at his arm; got him into a position that he knew would result in being helped up. “Safehouse?”

It would be the best place, for sure. No nagging bats, freedom to go out the next night with no one to hold him back. At the same time, he couldn’t help but imagine the bare walls and empty rooms. Dragging himself out of bed to make food, or just not bothering at all. It was lonely, being sick by yourself, and it never failed to remind him of the times he went through the same thing on the streets. He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say-

And apparently he hesitated a bit too long. “Manor?” Cass asked, instead. “Alfred would help.”

Soup from Alfred; a warm bed. Siblings bustling in at all hours to bother him with a book, or a movie, or just conversation. A tall figure in the middle of the night, peeking through the door. Jason had to close his eyes against a sudden, unwelcome prickle.

Being sick was the worst.

“Yeah,” he said. “The manor sounds fine.”

But family usually made it better.


	5. Jason & Stephanie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simpler version of getting helped back up.

Usually Jason’s senses were fine-tuned enough that even when he wasn’t paying attention, he could go down the sidewalk without issue. He supposed that someone walking with steps as silent as his own would throw a wrench in that.

 

He was looking across the street, unable to not keep a lookout even when he wasn’t in uniform, when he collided with something and found himself on his ass. Pedestrians parted around him, and when he looked up, it was to blond hair and blue eyes, staring at him with an equal amount of shock.

 

It only lasted for a moment, before her face bloomed into a smile. “Jay!” Stephanie exclaimed, and hopped to her feet. She stretched a hand out towards him.

 

He took it, and she pulled him up. “Steph,” he said. “Hey.”

 

“Look at you! Out and about!”

 

He rolled his eyes. “I do have hobbies, you know.”

 

She grinned. “Probably, yeah, but I’ve never  _ seen _ them before. What’re you up to?”

 

He paused. “...I’m going to the library.”

 

“Oh!” She blinked. Then, “Can I come?”

 

“What?”

 

“It’ll be fun! We can go for lunch or something after.”

 

“Aren’t you…” He gestured to purse she was holding. The dress she wore. “Doing something?”

 

She looked down, seeming almost surprised to see the bag in her hands. After a moment, she smiled, but he could tell without trying that it was bittersweet. “No, it’s nothing important.”

 

He took another glance around. Shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Yeah, sure. The library is just around the corner. I don’t usually go out to eat, so you’ll have to pick a place.”

 

She looked back up, and the grin on her face was bright. “Hell yeah. What are you in the mood for? Sushi? Sandwiches? Still early enough that we might be able to get breakfast somewhere, or-”

 

Their walk was filled with conversation, and the space between the library shelves was occupied by quiet murmurs and muffled laughs. By the time Stephanie led them to a park a few blocks away, Jason couldn’t find it in him to stop smiling. 

 

A food truck was parked next to the sidewalk, ‘Chris’s Chili’ painted in bright colors on the side. Stephanie glanced back at him. “I’m not sure if you’ve been here before, but they’re really great. Best chili in town.”

 

“No, I don’t usually…” Spend a lot of time outside of Crime Alley. Get food from people he doesn’t know.

 

“No worries.” She pushed him to sit on one of the park benches. “I’ll order for you.”

 

With that, she jogged to the food truck, proceeding to chat to whoever was inside with a bright smile. At one point, two pairs of laughter echoed loud enough that he could hear them from meters away. Then, she was jogging back, a red and white checkered paper dish in either hand.

 

She handed him one, and he looked down to find a chili dog in it, steaming in the afternoon air. She gave him a knowing grin.

 

“I remember Alfred saying you liked them a lot. It was nearby, so I thought we might as well.”

 

He blinked, unable to help a flicker of surprise. “Yeah. Thanks.”

 

A nod, and she looked down at her own dish: just chili, complete with a dash of toppings and a fork. For a moment, she just poked at it. 

 

“I’ve been dating,” she said.

 

“Oh.” Jason lowered the chili dog. “How’s that been going?”

 

She shot him a wry smile. “Like you would imagine. ‘What do you do in your spare time?’ ‘Oh, I fight crime in a bat themed costume from sunset to sunrise, what about you?’”

 

Jason couldn’t help a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

 

She took a bite; looked out across the park. People with family, friends, and dogs spread all over it, sending a low buzz of conversation through the air around them. 

 

“I forgot how hard it could be to connect with people. Just as a regular college student, even, not to mention when you do what we do. I’ve been trying to make normal friends, too, but…” She shrugged. “Dating seemed like it could be easier. A common interest, you know? I was on my way to a date with a guy when I ran into you. Stood him up, I guess.”

 

“Why didn’t you go?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Her eyes tracked a frisbee across the nearby grass: a couple playing with their dog. “I put on makeup, bought a nice dress, got a matching purse. Halfway there, I was wondering what I was doing. Making myself seem like someone I wasn’t.” She glanced at him. “Kinda against the entire point of dating, isn’t it?”

 

He considered it. Chewed for a few moments. “I’ve never been on a date, so I’m probably not the best person to ask.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

He gave her an amused smile. “I was young and committed to being Robin. Then, I was dead, and when I came back to life... “ He shrugged. “Well, you know the gist of the rest.”

 

“Forget vigilantism, that’s a real crime.”

 

He snorted. “Have you ever thought of dating someone in the same uh… career line?”

 

“What, a hero with the same amount of emotional baggage as me?” She hummed. “Worth a shot. Why? Have anyone in mind?”

 

“Not personally, but I’ll ask Kori if she knows someone.”

 

“Fuck, Koriand’r? Just set me up with her.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the finale; thank you all for reading!

Another day, another Arkham breakout. And, oh, wasn’t it always so  _ fun _ when a few of Batman’s rogues decided to team up.

 

Scarecrow and Joker, this time. Such a fitting combination that it might as well have been classic. The gas had the city laughing between choked sobs, and once their rebreathers were knocked off, the Bats were no different.

 

But when Jason—fighting off the combined mass of the villains’ henchmen in the grabbing pit that had formed around him and the others—finally had his helmet smashed in from a baseball bat too many, even he didn’t expect what happened.

 

He took that dreaded gasp of breath, pushed himself from the floor onto his knees, and took a glance around.

 

Here was the thing. After coming back to life, Jason hadn’t been in contact with Scarecrow’s gas. He’d had enough waking terrors in the right situations anyways that a combination of careful planning and the meticulously maintained rebreather in his helmet kept him far out of fear gas’ reach. Until that very moment.

 

Another thing. He was afraid of many things, he—ironically—wasn’t afraid to admit. So it was with a bit of morbid curiosity that he looked up. 

 

And everything was the same. The henchmen were jeering, but standing back, even as Scarecrow himself sauntered from within the crowd to stand in front of him, and no matter how much he squinted, he couldn’t see that anything had changed. Then, as Scarecrow quipped some shitty one liner he couldn’t bother himself to hear, he saw it. Felt it, more accurately. A familiar burn up his chest; a buzz in his head. The creeping mist of green at the edges of his vision.

 

‘Oh,’ he thought, but the surprise was nothing but a spark, snuffed out almost instantly.

 

Instead, he looked up into Scarecrow’s ugly mask. Watched the fabric over the mouth move, for all that he couldn’t hear anything past the blood rushing through his ears.

 

The last thing he felt clearly was the laughter bubbling in his lungs—up his throat—and the feeling of his fist meeting Scarecrow’s jaw.

 

It only felt like a second, but when he came back to himself, he was standing in the center of the square with his head bowed. The rest of his helmet was gone, his jacket was missing, and the holsters on his thighs were empty—of both guns and knives. 

 

When he looked down, his hands were bloody.

 

There was some kind of whimpering sound nearby, and his eyes flicked up the slightest bit it took to see the origin. The Joker was on the ground in front of him, all but a bloody heap of bruised flesh and broken bones. Something of an electric current ran through him at the sight, and his heart began to pound. He raised his head fully, and all around him, there were bodies. Some of them were groaning, and he knew that he had packed rubber bullets for the occasion, but-

 

He had a knife on the bottom of his boot. Always, always, in case of emergency. It would be easy. So very easy, with the Joker helpless on the ground the way he was. He could almost imagine it—and he had a very good imagination: skin parting around the blade, blood pooling onto the pavement; that wheezing laughter finally sputtering to a stop.

 

Maybe he should have been triumphant, or maybe angry. Disgusted. But looking at the scourge of his life, beaten on the ground, all he felt was empty.

 

A hiccuping sound reached his ears from his right, and when he looked over, there were familiar colors crumpled on the ground. He spared one last, lingering look at the Joker—even as his body turned away—and then he was walking. He reached a hand up for his comm as he did, but found his fingers connecting with an empty ear. Crushed and scattered somewhere among the bodies, he was sure.

 

The first familiar form he reached was Nightwing. The older man’s eyes were closed, but his breathing was quick, and every so often, his fingers spasmed against the ground. It was with caution that he stretched out a hand, and for good reason. As soon as his fingertips touched Dick’s shoulder, he was met with wide eyes and a death grip on his arm.

 

Then, Dick relaxed with a whooshing exhale. The grip loosened. “Jason,” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

 

Jason opened his mouth for an affirmative, but found nothing but a wheezing rasp coming out. He hadn’t realized until just then how much his throat hurt. He swallowed, wet his lips, and tried again. “Yeah,” he said, this time. “Just peachy.”

 

In reflection, he didn’t know how he looked. When Dick brushed his fingers against his cheek and the gloves came away bloody, he assumed the answer was ‘not good.’

 

“Are you okay?” he asked in return.

 

Dick nodded, even as his eyes continued to dart around. “I think it’s wearing off. What about the others? Let me-” He started to push up, but stopped as soon as Jason put a hand on his chest.

 

“Stay down,” he said. “I’ll take care of it, just call the Batmobile for me.”

 

It spoke to Dick’s condition that he just sunk back down instead of protesting. Jason gave him one last pat, and stood up. Next was Cass, curled up with her hands over her ears, and then Stephanie, against a wall with her face in her knees. Tim, mouth bleeding from a bitten tongue. Damian, the source of the hiccuping sobs—just barely breaking through his stone facade.

 

By the time the Batmobile was rolling up, he had herded them all next to the same area, and sat with them himself. Cass was curled under one arm, and Stephanie was burrowed into his other side. He was back to back with Tim, the younger man’s head craned so that the back of it rested on Jason’s shoulder, and Dick was draped across their legs, one arm over his eyes and the other across Damian’s back, whose legs were sprawled over Jason’s lap.

 

When the door to the sleek vehicle opened, he couldn’t help but be surprised to see Batman himself step out. Just hours ago, the man had been in Metropolis. The nagging urge to flee still rose up inside him, but he was in a grabby pile of siblings, so he didn’t think he could get away even if he tried. Instead, he met the gaze straight on, and unconsciously tightened his arms around the girls. A moment passed. Then two. Then, Batman’s mouth opened.

 

“Take care of them,” he said, before turning with a swoop of his cape to walk towards the villains. 

 

“Fucking obviously,” Jason muttered, and began the process of unwrapping himself and shoveling the rest of them into the vehicle.

 

He was gone again within hours of arriving at the Cave. The grasping claws of the Pit were always something he had to deal with alone. He knew, however, that they would all be there when he went back.

 

And that was enough.


End file.
